


The Virtue of Redundancy

by Gray Cardinal (Gray_Cardinal)



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 08:58:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1893078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gray_Cardinal/pseuds/Gray%20Cardinal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Master smiled silkily. “That’s the virtue of redundancy, my dear. Even if you had, the watch and the Kalisutra parasites would have been enough to carry the day."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Virtue of Redundancy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VampirePaladin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampirePaladin/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** _The **Doctor Who** universe belongs to the BBC; I’m merely borrowing various bits of it temporarily for the purposes of the following story. Any resemblance between the following material and actual Earth-based events or locales is entirely accidental; as with most things occurring in the Doctor’s vicinity, it’s all being made up on the spur of the moment._

**Zurich, 1908**

“As long as we’re in Switzerland, we just have to look at the watches!”

Nyssa’s expression was doubtful. “I don’t see why. A device that keeps Earth time won’t be much good in the TARDIS.”

Tegan bristled. “It’s not just the timekeeping; it’s the craft. A proper Swiss watch is a work of art. A lot of them are beautifully engraved or jeweled, and the inner works are amazing technology – at least by our standards,” she added, shrugging ruefully. “The watchmakers around here don’t have sonic screwdrivers.”

“A definite point,” Nyssa said with a chuckle. “Still, if we’ve only the afternoon, I’d rather investigate the confectioneries. From what the Doctor says, there’s no better source in the galaxy for fine chocolate than twentieth century Switzerland.”

Turlough regarded both women with well-practiced indifference – mostly an act nowadays, but the image was proving difficult to discard entirely. “Do what you like. I believe I fancy a nice wedge of well-aged cheese – and that’s another thing these Swiss do better than anyone else this side of the Horse Nebula.”

The Doctor raised an eyebrow at them all, shaking his head in amusement. “Get on with your shopping, then. I have a bit of work to do on the TARDIS yet. But you might bring me back a sample or two if you can manage it.”

The three companions all nodded – some more cheerfully than others – and strode off in various directions along the sidewalks of metropolitan Zurich, leaving the Doctor standing beside the TARDIS, one hand thrust into the pocket of his coat.

#

It took Tegan less than ten minutes to find a likely-looking shop, with a neatly engraved wooden sign reading “ _E. Smart & Co., Quality Timepieces_” hanging over its doorway. She stepped inside, and was greeted by a muted symphony of ticking – the rich _thoom_ of tall grandfather clocks, the livelier _clack-clack_ of wall-clock pendulums of various sizes and lengths, and the brisk _clickclickclick_ of watchworks combining to produce a surprisingly mellifluous undercurrent of sound. The room she had entered was not large, and every inch of space was occupied – open cabinets held shelf clocks of varying sizes, there were clocks with cuckoos and wooden bears and toy soldiers mounted on the walls, no less than three grandfather clocks stood in various corners, and a glass-covered case ran the length of the counter, filled with watches for one’s pocket or wrist or to hang around one’s neck.

The small spry man behind the counter looked up, eyeing his visitor with sharp curiosity. “English, yes? A traveler?”

“More or less,” Tegan said, turning from side to side to examine the displays.

“It will be watches, then – something easily carried. Let me see.” Her host produced a key, opened the case, and drew out a tray. “This, perhaps, for you – or this, or this.” His finger first tapped a simply engraved pendant watch in a gold case, then a silver-banded wristwatch edged in tiny green gemstones, then a black-faced watch mounted on a silver and onyx bracelet.

Tegan’s eyes lit up with interest, but her practical side reminded her of a key fact. “I’m sure I couldn’t afford—”

“You might be surprised, miss. I’m just now looking to clear out my stock – time to retire, you know. Here, take a closer look at this one.” The old man lifted the pendant, dangling it between them in the air. “Note the intricate design....”

Fifteen minutes later, Tegan stepped out onto the street, the golden pendant hung around her neck and a second velvet-lined box tucked into her pocketbook. “The Doctor will be wonderfully surprised,” she said to no one in particular as she strolled back the way she’d come.

She failed to notice the man who’d waited on her as he stepped into the street a few moments later. “I might use a different adjective, Miss Jovanka,” he murmured, chuckling softly. His features and form shifted as he spoke, the wiry man with sparse silver hair now replaced by a tall, angular black-haired figure with a neatly trimmed goatee. “But he will most assuredly be surprised.”

#

Nyssa was in no hurry. Several hours passed as she wandered from shop to shop, trying a truffle here, a nut cream there, a caramel somewhere else, and pausing for a mug of steaming hot cocoa at a sidewalk café. The banker she’d visited had given her Trakenite coins a curious glance, but silver was still silver, and she had acquired more than sufficient pocket money to fund the day’s expedition.

She was making her way back to the TARDIS when an unusually rich aroma caught her attention. Following her nose half a block down a side street, she found the door of a small shop half-open and stepped eagerly inside.

“Ah, welcome!” The voice that greeted her came from a round, robust man who was briskly stirring something in an enormous cauldron at the back of a surprisingly large room. The apron he wore had no doubt begun the day as a plain white garment; presently, however, it was liberally spattered in a dozen shades of brown. “Do look round and see what you like. I’ve just another minute or two here; the milk isn’t quite fully incorporated yet.”

“Of course,” Nyssa said, grinning. “One can’t rush these things.”

“Indeed not,” the chocolatier agreed.

Nyssa turned her attention to the displays. Like most of the shops she’d visited, this one featured cases filled with a great variety of individual chocolates as well as shelves stocked with boxed assortments in various sizes. She nibbled at an almond truffle from a tray of samples – not the best she’d tasted that day, but still quite good – but then paused at a case of flat, narrow chocolate bars bearing a variety of stamped-in designs. “Essential infusions?”

“Oh, yes,” said the aproned man, setting aside his spoon and adjusting the controls for the heating element beneath the cauldron. “That’s something of a specialty of mine. If you favor the sweet, I have orange, raspberry, maple, and honey. For bolder palates there’s two sorts of mint, two of cinnamon, and three of pepper.”

“Fascinating,” Nyssa said as he wiped his hands clean and came forward. “And this?” She pointed at a small tray at the far end of the case.

“That’s my latest experiment: green tea with a hint of lemon, infused in bittersweet chocolate. Try a taste?”

Nyssa nodded. The chocolatier slid open the case, used a pair of silver tongs to remove a bar from the tray, then sliced off a morsel from its end. Nyssa accepted the tidbit and let it rest on her tongue for several moments, savoring the unusual flavor. “Fascinating,” she said. “I’ll take two bars of this, two of the raspberry, one of the spearmint, and one of the – habanero, is it?”

“It is,” the merchant confirmed. “Do watch that one; it’s by far the strongest of the lot. Half a square at a time is more than enough for most.”

Nyssa laughed. “Not to worry. I have a...friend in mind for that one,” she said, pausing to consider the word as it applied to Turlough. “And one for the spearmint as well,” she added; that was a flavor she suspected the Doctor would enjoy.

“Very good, then,” said the chocolatier. “Let me just wrap these up.”

He turned away from Nyssa, drawing out rectangles of colored foil from a drawer – and concealing the needle that sprung out of his sleeve as he injected the bar of spearmint-infused chocolate with an additional and quite tasteless substance. With difficulty, he resisted the impulse to laugh. Even behind as thorough a disguise as he presently wore, there was far too much chance that such a laugh would be recognized.

Five minutes after Nyssa had left the shop, it faded from the streets of Zurich with only the slightest of sighs and nothing but the entrance to a narrow alley to mark its passing.

#

Turlough had meant precisely what he’d said; what he wanted first of all had been lunch. He quickly discovered, however, that his “nice wedge” of cheese was less easy to find in Zurich than he’d hoped. Instead, the pub menus featured pots of fondue or plates of raclette – melted cheese scraped from an enormous, gently roasting wheel – accompanied by a variety of grilled sausages, fried potatoes (called _rosti_ ) or other sides.

He reluctantly ordered a meal of _rosti_ , veal sausage, and raclette – and discovered with some surprise that mixing the potatoes and cheese produced a decidedly satisfying result. His appetite sated, he spent some time roaming the streets, observing the local populace going about its business among Zurich’s labyrinth of cobblestone streets and park-like plazas.

Only when the sun’s afternoon descent was well along did he recall the Doctor’s request for samples, and began grudgingly looking for cheesemongers as his steps turned back toward the TARDIS’s parking spot. Here, too, though, his efforts met with difficulty – they had landed in the oldest, most urbanized part of Zurich, and though he passed no few grocers and general markets, specialty cheese shops seemed to be thin on the ground.

He was just a few blocks from the TARDIS when a glance down an alley yielded a promising sign: _M._ _Raet’s Fine Cheeses._ Hurriedly, he turned and made his way to the shop, pushed its door open, and entered.

“Good afternoon, sir!” The speaker was tall, curly-haired, and hearty of voice. “Do come in! I was just about to close for the day, but if there’s something I can offer you, I’ll be most glad to supply it.”

Turlough blinked, then quickly glanced along the length of the shop’s glassed-in display, which held nearly a dozen different cheeses – some in blocks, some in small wheels or rounds, one or two in wrapped boxes or tubs. His eye fell on a sizeable wedge near the center of the case, a sturdy-looking white cheese flecked with black and dotted with tiny holes. “That one, I think.”

“Ah, the red-label caraway Tilsit. A fine selection – and how much would you like?”

“Um, half a pound, if you please,” Turlough said, still slightly dazed at his good fortune.

“Of course, sir.” The curly-haired man briskly sliced a suitable portion from the block, then ripped a sheet of white paper from a roll mounted behind the counter. Stretching the wrapping out on his work table, he dipped a wide brush into a jar of clear liquid and swiftly daubed a fine coating onto the paper before folding it around the cheese. “Merely an anti-adhesive solution,” he explained. “Otherwise the wrapping would stick, and you’d have the devil’s own time pulling it free. There you go, then.” And he handed the wrapped wedge to Turlough.

Turlough accepted the parcel with a nod, handing over coins in return. “Thanks very much, and good evening to you!” So saying, he hurried out of the shop and back up the street.

Inside _M. Raet’s Fine Cheeses_ , the man who was not a cheesemonger let out a relieved breath. Turlough was usually the most suspicious of the Doctor’s current companions, and the fact that he’d been in a blazing hurry had been a major stroke of good fortune. He tapped a hidden control, whereupon the trappings of the cheese shop vanished, replaced by the compact control room of a fully functional TARDIS. Now, the TARDIS’s owner reflected, there was just one more stop before his day’s work was complete.

#

The Doctor regarded his companions cheerfully as a silent waiter cleared empty dinner plates from their table. The café’s outdoor seating area was cool yet comfortable, lit as it was by tall electric lamp-posts scattered throughout the patio.

“I trust you all had a fruitful afternoon?” he inquired.

“Brilliant,” said Tegan. “I’d no idea there were so many museums.”

“Superb,” said Nyssa. “As promised – no better chocolate in the civilized galaxy.”

“Good enough,” said Turlough. “Who knew Swiss cheese could be so – complicated?”

“Dear me,” the Doctor said, chuckling. “I take it you didn’t find your ploughman’s lunch.”

Turlough gave the Doctor a brief glower, then grinned. “More like a ploughman’s breakfast,” he said. “These Swiss have some very odd ideas. Tasty, but odd.”

Tegan’s eyebrow went up. “And did you bring any back?”

Turlough laughed shortly. “Not the raclette. That takes melting to do right. But I did find some – Tilsit, the shopman called it, with caraway. Much more proper.” He produced a paper-wrapped packet from his jacket pocket, presenting it to the Doctor with a flourish.

The Doctor sniffed the packet, then unfolded the paper to reveal its contents. He eyed the wedge thoughtfully for a moment, then reached inside his jacket for his sonic screwdriver. “Much tidier than an ordinary knife,” he explained as he twisted a control, generating an invisible blade and neatly slicing off a thin strip of the black-flecked Tilsit. With a toast-like gesture, he lifted it into his lips, chewed, and swallowed.

After a moment, he nodded thoughtfully. “Very pleasant. A touch of nuttiness, I think, along with the caraway. And an intriguing under-note.” He sliced off another sliver and ate it. “I’m not sure what it is, but it’s definitely unusual.”

He signaled the maitre’d, who disappeared briefly and returned with a trayful of glasses – sparkling water for the Doctor and Nyssa, a dark beer for Turlough, and a pale red wine for Tegan. After a sip, the Doctor pursed his lips. “Well. That’s cleared my palate.”

“That’s good,” Nyssa told him, bringing out her own parcel. “I found the most astonishing chocolate bars.” She handed one foil-wrapped packet to Turlough and a second to the Doctor. At Tegan’s questioning glance, she laughed and said lightly, “After that meal, I wasn’t sure you’d want a second dessert.”

Tegan grinned back. “For Swiss chocolate, I’ll make room.”

Nyssa smiled, drew out another of the infused bars, and passed it to the other woman. “Raspberry for you, then. Small bites now – especially you, Turlough. The maker said that one’s more than a bit fierce.”

“Oh, really?” Turlough arched an eyebrow at Nyssa, unwrapped his gift, and deliberately snapped off a full square of chocolate. “Let’s just see,” he said, and popped it whole into his mouth.

“Whoo- _wwwoww_!” he exclaimed a moment later, reaching for his beer and quaffing half the mug in a single gulp. “Fierce is right!”

The Doctor had picked up the wrapper from Turlough’s bar, and nodded. “Habanero pepper infusion – I should think so.”

Tegan snorted. “That’ll teach you to listen.”

“Fierce,” Turlough repeated. “But bloody good.” And he deliberately – though much more carefully – bit off another half-square of chocolate. “Mmmm.”

“No accounting for taste, I see,” the Doctor said, eyeing the label on his own present. “T. E. Mars? Quite a name in candy, that, but I’d thought they were Americans.”

“Perhaps a cousin,” Nyssa said. “He seemed pleasant enough.”

“Spearmint was well thought of,” the Doctor told her. “Should be quite refreshing. Let’s just see,” he added, echoing Turlough’s words. With a brisk motion, he stripped the foil from one end of the bar, broke off half a square, and set it neatly on his tongue. “Ahhh – excellent!”

Tegan abruptly set down her raspberry-infused bar, already half-eaten, and hastily rummaged in her pocketbook. “I almost forgot,” she said. “I found a souvenir too.”

“What, a watch?” the Doctor inquired. “For me? You really shouldn’t have.”

“I hadn’t meant to,” Tegan admitted. “But it was too brilliant a chance to refuse, what with the maker retiring and all.”

The Doctor took the small square box from her and frowned. “I ought not take this,” he said. “Even at a bargain-basement price, a good Swiss watch...still, let’s have a look.”

He snapped open the little case, and his eyes widened. “Curiouser and curiouser. The engraving looks almost Gallifreyan. I wonder.” Delicately, he extracted an ornately inscribed silver pocket watch from the box, studied it for several moments, then flicked open the lid covering the watch’ s face...

...and froze, his eyes going pale and fixed. “Like...an...arch,” he murmured, the words coming as if through a fog, before his lips stiffened.

“Doctor!” All three companions spoke at once, but it was Nyssa who was at the Doctor’s side first. She gripped his right wrist, careful not to touch the watch clutched in his hand, and shook her head unhappily.

“His pulses are fading,” she told the others. “I think we’re losing him.”

Abruptly, the restaurant’s maitre’d appeared on the Doctor’s opposite side. “Oh, but you are,” he said, in a tone no longer deferential. With a none-too-gentle tug, he plucked the pocket watch from the Doctor’s hand, and with his other hand laid a firm grip on the Doctor’s left shoulder.

“I have his memories here,” said the Master, allowing his fourth and last disguise of the day to fall away. “His body is mine to command, thanks to the Kalisutra cellular parasites I applied to the cheese. Or it will be, at least, until it perishes from the nerve toxin I injected into the chocolate you gave him. By that time, of course, I’ll have extracted the rest of his regenerations, so the body will no longer be any use.”

The Doctor’s companions stared with varying degrees of shock. “You can’t get away with this!” stormed Tegan.

“We’ll stop you somehow!” Turlough growled, half-rising – but he dropped back into his chair when the Master slipped his hand into a pocket, trading the stolen watch for his Tissue Compression Eliminator.

“I should have guessed,” Nyssa told him. “T. E. Mars, indeed!”

The Master merely smiled silkily. “That’s the virtue of redundancy, my dear. Even if you had, the watch and the Kalisutra parasites would have been enough to carry the day. Now, then: come along, Doctor,” he said, addressing the frozen Time Lord. “You are mine now, and you must obey.”

Slowly, stiffly, the Doctor rose from his chair. At a stern glance from the Master, Nyssa stepped back, releasing the Doctor’s wrist. “I...must...obey.” The voice was hollow as the slight, slender body turned to follow the Master away into the darkness. “I...must...”

“SURPRISE!”

With a lightning motion, the Doctor’s right arm flashed to the Master’s shoulder and applied a curious spread-fingered grip – whereupon the Master crumpled to the patio flagstones with a strangled squeak.

“I warn you,” he said, turning to his companions with a grin, “the Vulcan nerve pinch doesn’t usually work on Time Lords. Luckily for us, I know where the proper nerves really are.” Working rapidly, he tied the Master to a chair, making sure to pocket the TCE in the process.

Nyssa took a deep, relieved breath. “I was afraid he was going to see through it.”

“Me, too,” echoed Tegan. “Do we really look as dim as all that?”

“Anti-adhesive solution?” Turlough added mockingly. “As if we hadn’t heard of wax paper.”

The Doctor grinned at them all. “I knew the TARDIS had come here for a reason – and once I saw Tegan come out of that shop half-mesmerized, I had a good idea what it was. Luckily, there was enough time before our little supper to give the traps a proper once-over and dispose of the more dangerous bits.”

“Most of the more dangerous bits,” Turlough corrected, eyeing Nyssa. “You could have given a bit more warning about that chocolate bar.”

Nyssa gave him her most demure smile. “And what fun would that have been? Besides, it made you all the more convincing.”

The Master’s eyes snapped open abruptly. “Impossible!” he fumed. “My designs were foolproof. How could you possibly—?” He broke off. “Curse you, Doctor!”

“Now, now,” the Doctor told him. “Such language. What are we to do with you now, I wonder?”

“You **will** set me free at once!”

Tegan eyed the Master scornfully. “I should think not!”

Nyssa stepped suddenly forward. “I have a better idea,” she said, a dangerous chill in her voice. She reached into a pocket, produced a small velvet pouch, and approached one side of the chair in which the Master was bound. “Open your hand.”

The Doctor’s expression went abruptly dark. “No. If you’re wrong, or the process fails – the price is too high.”

“It’s mine to pay, Doctor. Mine by expertise as well as blood. And what better tool for the purpose than one he himself created?” Nyssa’s gaze turned again to the Master, and she repeated her command. “Open your hand.”

“I will not.” But the Master’s voice had lost a measure of its usual pride, and the sheen in his eyes flickered oddly.

“You will,” said Nyssa. She used her free hand to apply a clawlike grip to the Master’s upper arm, two fingertips pressing against a particular nerve. “ **Open your hand!** ”

The Master’s mouth tightened, attempting to hold in an outraged noise that was half howl, half moan. But his fingers slowly, unwillingly uncurled and splayed outward, and as they did Nyssa upended the pouch in her other hand. Out of it fell the pocket watch he had originally given to Tegan. As it landed in the Master’s palm, the renegade Time Lord’s fingers closed reflexively around it, and his eyes widened in unaccustomed shock.

“No!” he breathed. “Won’t – open it! The channel is – through the face!”

Nyssa shook her head as a grim, frighteningly satisfied smile played about her lips. “That was before,” she told him. “I modified the interface; now it works via skin contact. Simple, if one knows a bit about bio-electronics. And now that it’s had a few seconds to prime....”

“Nooo- _glawwg_!” The Master’s wail cut itself off abruptly, and there was a deep, abrupt _whirrrr_ from the watch that persisted for several minutes. Then the sound ceased, the hand closed around the watch flew open, and with a quick motion Nyssa flicked the velvet pouch forward to catch the timepiece as it fell.

There was a profound silence for several minutes; for a wonder, the commotion had somehow failed to attract any notice from elsewhere on the café’s patio, and the Doctor’s own party sat stunned, trying to assimilate the rapid turn of events.

“Well,” the Doctor said at last, reaching out and gently extracting the pouch from Nyssa’s fingers. “That would seem to put paid to the Master. But it doesn’t look as if—”

“The Master?”

The bound man in the chair was shaking his head and gingerly testing his limbs against the restraints the Doctor had applied. “I don’t believe I know—wait, Nyssa?” His eyes went wide. “You’ve – matured. This is most strange.”

Nyssa’s flat expression transformed in an instant to one of wonder-filled joy. “Father!” She leapt to wrap her arms around him, trying none too efficiently to undo the Doctor’s knots without sacrificing the intensity of the embrace.

Tegan and Turlough exchanged glances, then turned to the Doctor. “All right,” Tegan demanded, “what just happened?”

The Doctor gave them a bemused look. “To all appearances,” he told them, “a genuine miracle. That watch of the Master’s was very rare Gallifreyan technology. It’s designed to extract a Time Lord’s memories and store them away. The proper implementation has several more features and safeguards, and is actually more or less benign. The Master’s, as you might expect, was meant purely as a trap.”

“And Nyssa turned it back on him,” said Turlough. “Only there’s clearly more to it.”

“Indeed. The Master is Gallifreyan, but his body isn’t, or wasn’t. He’d stolen it from Nyssa’s father on Traken, very shortly after my previous self passed through. Quite frankly, I assumed Tremas’ consciousness had been lost or destroyed in the process. Nyssa took the chance that it hadn’t; she retuned the watch in hopes that it would sift and store Time Lord memories but not those of a Trakenite. It was one chance in ten thousand, even granting that Tremas’ mind was still intact after all this time...but it appears to have worked.”

“Seems?” Tegan echoed.

“Only time will tell,” said the Doctor, glancing at the reunited father and daughter. “But at least now we’ll have a chance to see.”

# # #

 

**Author's Note:**

> The storyline for this took a very long time to crystallize, and it wasn't till nearly the last moment that I realized I'd opened a back door into one of the prompts from the initial assignment.
> 
> The Master's pocket watch is clearly a knock-off or derivation of "Chameleon Arch" technology as seen much later in the new-era Whovian adventures, but no knowledge of the latter material should be necessary to follow the present narrative.


End file.
